So careless of us to assume the remains
Will rot like dead flesh, and blend with the Earth,
in carbon like ribbons that shred over time.

What will remain when civilization is gone?
Where will our souls rest when our spirits get tired,
When our feet no longer wander too far?
Clothed in red vinyl unfit for the end,
The chair waits,
Alone by the window,
For us.

- T. M. Crone

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The Red Chair was brought to you in conjunction with Magpie Tales. Read more vignettes and poems from writers prompted by the red chair.

A moving poem - so solitary and serene. It reminds me a little of Denise Levertov. I saw your post on the "links to your blog" area of Goodreads where I have some of my own material posted as The Black Dionysia. I thought you might find resonances in some of my chapters and would love your feedback, particularly on an upcoming chapter (The Nameless of Rajed) which will hopefully be posted in the next month.

Science Modalities

Science Fiction & Fantasy Saturday

T. M. Crone

Things I believe: Tears on a sunny day, that God can be found at the top of every mountain, that the world will get better, in the spirits protecting the badlands, and that someday the people of Earth will be reunited with their distant relations living in another galaxy.